


Silver Bells

by spikesgirl58



Series: Twenty Five Days of Christmas [22]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Napoleon and Illya tend to last minue shopping, their world is rocked by a shooting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Bells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loxleyprince](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=loxleyprince).



Side by side, they walked down the crowded street.  Around them, the sounds of the season accompanied them as they moved through the people.  Bells rang sweetly as they passed Salvation Army workers, and music drifted out of stores as their doors opened and closed. Napoleon was whistling happily, something he did better than singing.  Illya shifted his armful of packages again.

“How come I have to do all the heavy lifting?”

“Doc said I have to take it easy one more week.”  Napoleon patted his shoulder fondly.  “We’re nearly there anyhow.”

Illya looked around.  They were in unfamiliar territory for him.  He was at home in Brooklyn Heights, in the Village, but here in Manhattan, he felt slightly uncomfortable.  Or it could be that damn turkey platter.

“Why did you need to get that turkey platter?” Illya grumbled.

“It is beautiful, heavy –“

“You got that right.”  Illya hefted up the boxes and bags he carried with a grunt.

“And you broke mine at Thanksgiving.”  Napoleon managed to sound martyred.

“It threw itself off the counter in a suicide attempt.  Seriously, Napoleon, it was a very ugly platter.”

Napoleon clasped a hand to his chest and then nodded.  “Agreed, but the reality is that if we are going to have a platter on which to serve turkey, we actually have to have one in our possession.”

“But it weighs a ton.”

“All the more likely to not bend, break, or splinter under the care of Mr. Kuryakin.  I know how you think.”  Napoleon waggled his eyebrows at his partner and Illya laughed then.

There was the sudden sound of a scuffle and a woman screamed.  Both men turned in the direction of the noise.  A woman was running out of a store and towards them, a small child in her arms.

“Help me!” She screamed.  “He’ll kill me if he catches me.”

“Who…?” Napoleon started and then a man burst from the store, brandishing a weapon in his right hand.

Instantly, Illya moved, placed himself in front of the woman and child.  With any luck, the man would never…

“I see you!”  The man was obviously distraught.  “If I can’t have you, no one can.”

“Calm down,” Napoleon ordered.  Already they could hear the wail of approaching police cars.  “Let’s talk this over.”

“Are you the one?”  the man screamed at Illya.  “Are you the one stealing my woman from me?”

“No, I…”  The gun blasted and people screamed.  Illya slammed backwards, tripping and collapsing against a brick building. 

Napoleon didn’t even stop to think.  He drew his weapon, aimed, and fired without conscious thought other than _agent down.  “_ Illya!” 

The shooter crumpled and the gun skittered across the sidewalk, stopping at Napoleon’s feet.  The woman screamed and rushed to the man’s side.  “You killed him.”

“He shot my partner,” Napoleon argued, scooping up the weapon and dropping it into the pocket of his top coat.  He immediately went to where Illya lay.  Their packages were scattered about and Napoleon hastily pushed Illya’s coat aside.

“Freeze!” 

Napoleon paused, his hands in the air.  Slowly he turned and set his weapon down.  “I’m Napoleon Solo,” he started.

“I don’t care if you’re Santa Claus!”

“He killed my husband!”

“He’s not dead.  He’s sleeping.”

“Sure he is, fella.”

“Listen, officers.  We can clear this up.  In my top pocket is my ID.  That’s my partner on the ground.  We need an ambulance.”

Slowly one of the officers approached and reached into Napoleon’s pocket.  He pulled out the thin wallet and flipped it open.  “Wow, an UNCLE agent.”  The cop turned.  “He’s one of us.”

“Please, my partner…”

“Ouch.” 

Napoleon spun as Illya was sitting up and rubbing his head.  “Illya!”

“Not so loud.”  Illya’s hand went to his chest and he winced.  “What happened?”

“You were shot.”

“That part I painfully remember.  Why aren’t I bleeding?”

Illya was right.  There was no blood.  Napoleon looked around at the scattered packages and that’s when he saw the platter.  It was dented by the bullet, but it had held.

“Say what you like.  This turkey platter saved your life.”

“I take back all the mean things I said about it.”  Illya struggled to his feet and looked at the woman cuddling the fallen man.  “Dead?”

“Asleep.”

“Joy to the World.”  Illya continued to massage his chest.  “Let’s go home.”

“Music to my ears.”  Despite what the doctor had said, Napoleon helped Illya gather up their scattered packages.  He slipped an arm around Illya to help him move a bit.

Side by side, they started back down the street to the sounds of silver bells.


End file.
